Each one of us, then, should speak of his roads, his crossroads, his roadside benches; each one of us should make a surveyor's map of his lost fields and meadows. Gaston Bachelard.

Friday, October 21, 2011

South Street Seaport

I've heard there's a monthly sea shanty sing at the South Street Seaport. Something about land-legged people gathering together to sing songs to stationary boats is intriguing—as though everyone is longing for a different life. I haven't decided whether its poetic or terrifying and I suppose I won't know until I check it out. In any case, living in New York but being originally from Vancouver, I've always liked to go down to the Seaport. I find the sound of the boats straining against the ropes and the wood groaning against the old water of the East River comforting. Still, I'm waiting for the time I will go down to the Seaport and discover that all the boats have left New York and moved on to open water.

This is a piece I wrote combining field recordings (made with my Zoom H4N) and my voice. The text is: names of the ships and their types and an excerpt from Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad.

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